Blurring the Lines
by portionss-forfoxes
Summary: Dan is waiting on her bed.


**A/N: Set sometime later on in S5. **

It had been a long time since Dan first blurred the lines between love and hate.

Lust was thrown in there, too, somewhere along the way, as lust is wont to do. But Dan is one of those few enlightened souls on this godforsaken earth who knows that lust has a lot more to do with hate than it does with love.

He is laying the wrong way on her bed when she walks in. At first, she doesn't see him—he's quiet like that. Not in her face. Good at not demanding anything at all from her, other than what she is willing to give him.

She takes off her shirt, and Dan takes in the sight of her floral, low-riser pajama shorts and simple white bra with the bow in between the cups before slyly commenting,

"Well, that's nice, but you really didn't have to put on a show."

She jumps and whirls on him, shielding herself with her removed shirt. The moment she sees him, she drops her arms and her face relaxes, but a twinge of annoyance remains.

"Oh," she says, "it's you."

"Isn't it always?" he offers. "Or at least, since we began our _sexual encounters_." He smiles.

She stiffens, her jaw tightening. She turns, leaning over the side of the bed to give Dan a full view of her cleavage. Her hair tickles his cheeks and goose-bumps shiver down his arms.

"If you ever," she begins, her voice thick and husky. Dan closes his eyes. "…call it that again…" It is one of those moments when Dan lusts for her so deeply he forgets if he ever loved her. "…I will put a lock on my window," she finishes flatly. She snaps her shirt against the side of his face and goes to rummage through her dresser drawer.

Sitting up, he glances around her room. Neater than the Queen Mother's, he'd bet. Not that he didn't expect this. But he can see in her swift, sharp movements and in the pierce in her eye that something is up. Dan knows everything there is to know about her. More than her parents. More than her love. Probably more than God. It was why he didn't like her most of the time.

"What's wrong?" he asks. It's something he hasn't said in a long time. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he continues, "Do you wanna…talk about it?"

She doesn't turn, doesn't even stop to blink. She merely says to him emotionlessly, "Really, Dan? Seems like that's the _last _thing we've been doing lately." She pauses, snorts. "In fact, just the opposite."

It stings him a bit that she wouldn't even consider talking to him. He remembers, and even if she doesn't want to, he'll remind her.

"Remember when we were such good friends? Before that night you did that thing I'm not supposed to mention and you drank yourself blind because you were miserable, that night you asked me to fuck you and I did? We used to talk." By now she has stopped rummaging. She leans her head against her dresser. She closes her eyes, a soft frown forming on her brow, and Dan can see that she is tired. In every possible sense of the word. "Everything was simpler then," he says, if only to make it worse.

He knows sometimes she regrets it. He wants to remind her.

She doesn't acknowledge the words he has spoken. She just tells him, "It's…everything."

"Has someone found out about…us?" Dan blurts, immediately mortified. (The word sounds strange coming out of his mouth. There had been no 'us' in a very long time, if there had ever been one at all).

"No," she answers. "It's just…I really hate everyone sometimes."

Dan knows the feeling.

He pats the bed next to him, and she comes and lies down beside him, as simple as if they had never stopped.

She sighs, staring up at the ceiling. Dan stares, too. This used to confuse him, before, when all she wanted to do was stare at the ceiling. He always wondered what was so interesting up there. But now he saw it wasn't about the ceiling at all.

"It's getting harder to breathe," she whispers to him (and only him), and at first, Dan thinks she means metaphorically, the type of breathing that comes from freedom and wildness and the way it feels when the words "_Fuck you!_" roll off your tongue. Then he realizes she means literally.

It is only a split second of wondering why before he knows. She is looking at him like she knows he knows, and even though she didn't tell him right off the bat, she wanted him to know all along.

Still, she stops his hand when it goes to her waistband.

"Don't," she squeaks, but there are tears in her eyes, so he does anyway, stopping at the end of her stomach to reveal a purple bruise, shaped like a cloud from the heights of candy mountain.

It is silent for a moment. Dan does not think.

"Why," he says, "do you keep going back to him," he asks, and there is bitterness in his voice, "if he hurts you like this?"

She doesn't answer. She sits up, maybe to shield tears from him or maybe just so she doesn't have to make eye contact.

"Is it because he threatened to kill you or something?" Dan prods, anger coursing through his veins. He wonders why he needs to know so desperately. Maybe because of a remnant of when she used to mean something to him.

Now, she wants to mean nothing. This is what she has chosen.

She remains still, her back to him, but he hears her voice, cold and distant,

"Death is the last thing I'm afraid of right now, Dan."

It scares him.

Slowly, she turns her head around to face him and the second her angry, angry eyes meet his, he knows. He knows because of the deep pit of sadness he sees beneath those angry eyes. It seems so obvious. He wonders why only he can see it.

"I could take him!" Dan says defensively, but even to him it sounds pathetic. "_I could take him_!"

She drops down beside him, never breaking his gaze. Their bodies are facing inwards towards each other.

"That's the thing, Dan," she says exasperatedly, and she sounds so mad but still _so __damn __sad_. "You say you can do things like that, but you _can't_! You just _can't_."

She is crying now.

"You _can't_," she whispers again.

And then she kisses him. Once, twice, three times.

It's moments like these when Dan really hates her.

She is so tired.

She is so, so tired.

Blair falls asleep in his arms.

**A/N: If you would like clarification on any of the vagueness of this story, just message me and I'd be happy to explain my thinking! I don't want to put it here because if you'd like to interpret it yourself-that's typically what I like to do-then do so! **

**Thank you for reading, you lovely being! Reviews are most kick-ass. **


End file.
